


What's Yours is Mine

by perilouspage



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:28:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilouspage/pseuds/perilouspage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested by Tumble user drainagekind: Here's a prompt for you. Simmons walks in on Grif picking his nose with HIS finger. Bickering ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Yours is Mine

Simmons shuffled through the red base’s corridors. He yawned and dragged his feet, and he hadn’t gotten into his armor yet, but at least he was up. After the previous day, in which Grif had managed to avoid his duties by sleeping until 3:00, Simmons had taken it upon himself today to get Grif’s lazy ass out of bed.

He stepped up to the door that he knew to be to Grif’s room. It was the same heavy, metal door as every other room in the base had, but around foot level it was scuffed and scratched by Grif’s attempts to kick the door open. (These attempts had only succeeded in denting Grif’s boots.) Simmons stepped up to the door and gave three sharp raps, followed by a call of, “GRIF!”

“I’m up,” moaned Grif from inside. Simmons heard no movement indicating that Grif was out of bed, and so he knocked thrice more, harder than the first three. Grif called, “Christ, hang on a second!” Three more knocks.

Finally, Simmons listened as Grif struggled himself awake, feet hitting the floor one at a time before he meandered to the door. It finally pulled inward before Simmons…and the view he received did not please him. There stood Grif, a head shorter than Simmons but about 175 pounds heavier, with one of his fingers— no, one of Simmons’ fingers— shoved into his nose, digging for gold.

“Oh my god, Grif!” hollered Simmons. “You can’t do that! You smoke and overeat no matter what I say, but I refuse to let you pick your nose with my hand!”

Grif dug the digit just a bit deeper before pulling it out and wiping it on his boxers. “Y’know,” he said, “since this arm is attached to my body now, I’d like to think I can do whatever I want with it.” For emphasis, he reached back and scratched his backside with his new Caucasian hand.

“EW!” Simmons said, physically recoiling. “You’re absolutely disgusting!”

Grif replied, “You say it like you didn’t already know that. And besides, you know you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Simmons firmly clamped his mouth shut and willed the bloodflow away from his cheeks. Grif looked on with a smirk. Finally, Simmons forced out, “If I see you picking your goddamn nose with my hand again, I will kill you.

“Yeah, good luck with that.”


End file.
